Just Business, Part 1: Start-up Costs
by arbailey
Summary: In the wake of a PR disaster with his previous security firm, wunderkind film producer Logan Echolls is looking for some new blood to work the premiere of his latest blockbuster. But the new blood is actually old blood... And maybe even bad blood at that. But Veronica Mars knows security like nobody else, and after all, it's just business... Future Fic.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: Just Business, Part 1; Start-up Costs

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 5,213

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later, see author's note)

SUMMARY: In the wake of a PR disaster with his previous security firm, wunderkind film producer Logan Echolls is looking for some new blood to work the premiere of his latest blockbuster. But the new blood is actually old blood... And maybe even bad blood at that. But Veronica Mars knows security like nobody else, and after all, it's just business...

SPOILERS: The whole dang show. Future Fic.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

Chapter One

Slumped in one of the cushy leather office chairs they keep for exclusive use in the executive conference room, Logan Echolls fidgets absently and stifles a yawn with the back of his hand. He fusses with the crease of his trousers and unbuttons and then rebuttons his suit jacket, twice, just to have something to do. He pushes the lever hidden underneath his seat and suddenly drops a foot or so with a thump, grinning like an idiot until he catches Maria, the office manager, rolling her eyes at him pointedly. His smile turns sheepish as he stands and releases the lever again to return the chair to proper table height.

Connor Larkin is talking emphatically into his cell phone, smiling and gesticulating. His voice is warm and pleasant, which is precisely why they made him the public face of DreamJob Productions, LEG. Larkin could convince butter not to melt in his mouth, a talent that Logan has always envied. His good looks and easy personability have made him a Hollywood favorite for more than fifteen years now, though he somehow maintains the youthful character that made him an It Boy in the first place. He is a first-rate business partner and a genuinely good guy, so Logan hates him just a little.

Luckily for Logan's self-esteem, for all his excellent qualities, Larkin has his flaws. He is good at the glad-handing and negotiations, but he suffers from terminal indecision. So either Logan or Casey Gant, the "G" in "LEG", always has to be there for the handholding the first time they work with a new vendor. Today they are looking for a new security firm after that unfortunate incident involving the paparazzi, a ham-handed bodyguard, and an aging diva's prize Pekinese.

Logan glances over the memo again. They are meeting one "V. Morrigan", the COO of God of War Personal Security Services. Logan snorts at the company name and dramatic stylized centurion medallion that makes up the logo. This is going to be an epic dick-measuring contest, which Logan doesn't mind. He's never lost one. His eyes stray to the clock again before catching Connor's eye and tapping his finger on the imaginary watch on his wrist. Connor nods and wraps up his conversation. "Maria, send in Morrigan please," Larkin says after ending his phone call with a flourish.

Maria nods and heads into the reception area and a few seconds later ushers in the tiniest, blondest security officer Logan's ever seen.

"Veronica MARS!" Connor grins as he barks out the name.

Logan's glad Connor has taken control of the situation because he's distracted by this omnipresent buzzing sound that might be his brain cells screaming in their death throes.

"Mr. Echolls, Mr. Larkin" she smiles winningly, first holding out her hand to him. Logan takes it and clumsily pumps it once in the international symbol of neutral business before she turns and offers it to Connor who takes it with much more friendliness and grace.

"So, how are the abs? Not overly shiny?" she asks Larkin with a quirked eyebrow as he guffaws loudly, still holding her hand.

Logan blinks, his expression cloudy. Oh good. They have an in-joke.

"God," says Connor grinning broadly, "It's a small world, hunh Logan?"

"Yeah," he replies attempting a smile of his own. "Claustrophobically so." He's waiting for her patented offended look, but she just throws her head back and lets out a rich laugh, and the buzzing in his brain is just a touch quieter.

They settle down to bland pleasantries quickly, and Connor doesn't seem to need the hand holding today. He's the picture of affability and ease, smiling at Veronica and showing too many teeth. And he's off-again with that starlet he's been seeing for the last two years, so that's more good news. Jealousy swills around in Logan's stomach, competing with the buzzing in his brain for the title of least pleasant physical reaction to Veronica Mars. Those two are chatting like old friends- which they aren't- obliviously ignoring him. Logan is torn between gratitude he needn't take a more active role in the conversation and acute embarrassment at his obvious non-essentialness in this meeting.

He's the quiet one, the hardliner in this partnership, but he suddenly feels compelled to make small talk. "So, you dropped the Mars name? Papa can't be pleased." When he notices the trace of venom he injected into the question, totally unintentionally, he wants to cut out his own tongue. Something about her makes him break out in snark, and he can't seem to control it.

But she replies with smiling candor, completely unfazed, "Well, Mars is a bit notorious. Bad for business, and Dad gets that. And besides, I snuck it in there. The God of War! So butch," she says with a kittenish moue as Larkin laughs again.

His laugh bounces around the room like a friendly animal. Now Logan wants to cut out Connor's tongue.

Logan is studiously silent through the rest of the meeting, smiling absently, speaking only when spoken to and making only the blandest comments. Finally, the God of War security team has been interviewed as thoroughly as Logan can stand. It's handshakes all around, and Logan walks to the door as quickly as is humanly possible while still allowing him to claim he didn't run from her presence.

* * *

He likes to wander the studio lot before he heads home. It's a bit "master-of-all-he-surveys", but he chooses to believe that it keeps him grounded. In touch with the little people. And for the most part, it seems to work. He is very much regarded as a benevolent dictator, and he is allowed an air of camaraderie with the grips and cantina staff that usually thrills his A-lister heart. Tonight, he's a little too preoccupied to play the part to the hilt. He smiles inattentively at everyone who calls his name, shuffling through the back alleyways between the soundstages with his hands in his pockets.

He'd never intended to get into movies. He'd planned to stay far, far away from that particular poisoned well. When he'd transferred to USC from Hearst abruptly the spring of freshman year, he'd suddenly been faced with way too much time to think. He'd settled down into academic excellence just to give himself something to do other than thinking about her. And to prove he wasn't the hopeless loser she thought he was. As the heir of a vast fortune he was burning through at a ridiculous rate, he decided a business degree would be the best use of his tuition. At least he'd be able to tell who was screwing him and for how much.

That summer, Trina had finally managed to lock down the particulars on _The Aaron Echolls Story_ and begged him to help finance the thing. He'd refused her flat out, repeatedly, but ultimately she wore him down. She was his sister, and she'd been there before it all went to hell. He was running out of people he could say that about. And perhaps most importantly, she'd never felt sorry for him. While that may have made her unobservant, if not outright blind, it also made her unique in his private circle. That uncalculated insouciance, that talent for just being the bitchy older sister, a piece of the normal family life promised by sitcoms, well… That was a precious commodity indeed. So he signed on as an executive producer.

It was a piece of shit, _The Aaron Echolls Story_, and for the most part he was happy to wash his hands of it. If Trina and Jurgen, the artfully inept Eastern European director, wanted to paint memories of Aaron both misty and water-colored that was fine with Logan. He read the script with supreme disinterest. That is until he hit the third act, and they introduced a certain tiny blonde villainess.

Suddenly, he had a lot of problems with the script. He was suggesting all kinds of changes, punching-up the dialogue, and blocking out an alternate ending when Jurgen ejected him from the set entirely. He may have been a bit drunk when he called out the head writer as a "hemorrhoidal parasitic twin feeding off the dead." That was when Harry Liscombe, veteran studio exec, pulled him aside and explained that "executive producer" meant thank you for your input - and by input we mean money - and we'll call you at awards time.

Still, Harry went to the mat for Logan's improved dialogue, and while the audience was never in doubt of Aaron's ultimate innocence, the tiny blonde villainess was a much deeper and more interesting character by the time the picture wrapped. Liscombe told Logan he had a real eye, and he encouraged the boy to take some screenwriting courses in addition to his dry-as-dust business classes. And to cut back on the drinking. The stars could get away with just about anything, but nobody was going to put up with a shit-faced line producer. He spent that summer, and every subsequent summer for the next three years, working a number of Harry's films in positions from PA to full-fledged, "above-the-line with a capital P" producer.

Already accustomed to pushing himself relentlessly to avoid painful, idle imaginings, Logan got permission to extend his maximum credit load and graduated a full year early. By the time he graduated, Logan had augmented his transcript with a BA in film producing in addition to his BS in business administration. Six months after he got his MBA, Harry made him junior VP of Development for the studio's art house imprint. He was a permanent fixture at Harry's for Sunday dinner where he helped Mona, Harry's wife, perfect her already flawless spaghetti sauce.

Three years later, Harry was dead at seventy-five of a heart attack. In the hospital, Harry had made Logan promise he'd tell everybody that the old man had gone out with a bang, snorting rails off the stomach of a former Pussycat Doll. Logan had laughed and laughed until the sound spontaneously morphed into sobs, and Harry's hand went slack in his own.

Harry had put Logan in charge of Mona's trust and turned over a controlling interest in the studio to Logan. The smart move was to finagle this into a board position or even a vice presidency, but Logan's meteoric rise hadn't made him any friends among the other execs, and he was tired of the politics. This was the position he found himself in when he ran into Connor at some tired after-hours club.

Almost a decade into his career, Connor was looking for a little more control in his projects. A few more Oscar nods and a few less stunts requiring him to wear a harness that forcibly divested him of his testicles. When Logan ran into Casey Gant over the novelization of a prospective summer blockbuster, the stars had aligned. Logan cashed out at the studio and never looked back. Connor's star cache, Gant Publishing's extensive catalog of optioned properties, and Logan's wunderkind production skills had made them instant media darlings, but it was the 125 million their first picture did opening weekend that made them Hollywood fixtures.

And now, ten years since he left Neptune, he is the head of a hugely successful studio. He is one of the most powerful and influential people in an already celebrity-spangled industry. His own work has, to a significant degree, eclipsed his father's. He's broken big stars and been designated a kingmaker. He built one of the highest grossing animated franchises of the last twenty years. Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!

And what's he doing right now? Well, right this second he's hiding in an empty wardrobe trailer because his ex-girlfriend had the temerity to wander back into his orbit.

Sitting on the built-in banquette with his head in his hands, he gives himself a forceful shake. This is stupid. It's not like he thought she stopped existing when he couldn't see her. He is not, despite all indications to the contrary, an emotional infant. He straightens himself, smoothes the gentle creases out of his bespoke trousers, and opens the squeaky trailer door with a little more force than strictly necessary. With no weight to slow it's trajectory, the door slaps forcefully against the cheap siding and makes a distractingly loud, brittle sound. He glances around to see if anyone caught his performance, but he is blessedly alone, and he jumps down and heads back to the office.

He stops in the cantina for a cup of the ironically bad institutional coffee and walks past reception smiling, in a carefully friendly-but-not-sexually-predatorily sort of way, at the vapidly pretty blonde seated behind the high desk. She's now going by something ridiculous like SinDee Star, undoubtedly suggested by her shyster agent. He knows she's a struggling actress because, first of all, she's a receptionist in LA, and secondly, every time she delivers his messages he's treated to what they would sound like as a dramatic monologue. She kind of reminds him of Trina, and this has given him extra reserves of patience heretofore untapped.

He's winding his way back to his office when a triumphant scream pierces the air. Somewhere, there is a small child, very, VERY proud of herself. The onsite daycare was originally a somewhat grudging concession to the parents on staff, but it has already paid for itself many times over as a choice morsel in the benefits package. And he gets to be one of those loving, proletariat-embracing bosses who's all about balancing work and family. So it's win-win.

He's weighing the cost/benefit of soundproofing the daycare when he hears her voice ring out, weary but amused, "That'll be mine."

He turns the corner just as Veronica receives the little blonde into her arms. She's gorgeous, this child, and not in the every-baby-is-beautiful way. Her blonde-white hair is kept short and wraps around the contours of her face in messy curls, and she has these huge, intensely hazel eyes. She looks about three though Logan is not good at guessing the age of children, as it's not a skill there was any pressing need to hone.

Veronica turns and stops abruptly when she sees him.

"Oh hey, Logan," she says, smiling and hefting the little girl up onto her hip in a practiced fashion, "This is Emma. Piz's daughter."

The buzzing is back again, louder this time, angry.

"Emma, this is Logan. He's a friend of Daddy's and mine from college." Emma turns her face into Veronica's neck, suddenly shy. Veronica stage whispers to the little girl in her arms, "He made _MagicSuperPandaBot 3000_," and makes an exaggerated goggling face at Emma who suddenly turns away from her to give Logan an awed, appraising look. "It's our FAVORITE," Veronica says, maintaining the impressed tone and turning her goggling expression to Logan before letting it collapse into a conspiratorial smile.

"It's always nice to meet a fan," he tells Emma, holding out his hand to her.

She takes his index and pointer fingers into her small grip and shakes those two finger of his hand very solemnly, nodding. It's enchanting. He's enchanted. Veronica smiles even bigger, and nuzzles her nose into Emma's ear setting the little one into peals of ticklish laughter.

"Well, we need to be getting home," she says her face turned back to the baby, "Time for dinner, hunh?" Emma nods emphatically and wraps her arms around Veronica's neck tightly.

"It was really good to see you, Logan," Veronica says, her voice faintly choked by Emma's grip, as she starts to walk backwards down the hallway, her body and Emma's still slightly canted in his direction. "Can you wave bye?" she asks Emma as both of the blondes begin to wave at him. "Keep up the good work! More SuperPandaBot!" Veronica calls down the hallway with a chuckle as she pushes against the release bar with the small of her back and steps out into the failing evening light.

* * *

He waves until they turn away from the door and begin to walk across the parking lot. Then he stalks upstairs to his office, takes off his jacket, and throws it over the back of his desk chair. He walks over to the wet bar against the wall and pours himself a glass of something congratulatory and expensive a director gave him a few years earlier.

He hasn't done much drinking since he left Neptune- there just wasn't time, and Harry had been right about the expectation of sobriety when millions of dollars were involved- but he feels he's earned this one.

Logan never wanted children. Never. There was nothing worth passing on in the way of genetics in either the Echolls or Lester lines, and he could never be sure- absolutely sure- that he wouldn't turn out just like his father. Just like his grandfather.

It had taken him trips to three separate doctors to find one willing to do the procedure on a kid barely out of his teens, but he'd had a vasectomy at the tender age of twenty after a busted condom and pregnancy scare with a starlet on a one night stand. Now, seeing Veronica's baby, he's regretting… Well, so many things.

Piz. He can't believe she's still with Piz. He'd always seemed like a placeholder. Soft and stable and undemanding; Duncan 2.0, except without the exciting incest and rage epilepsy storylines. When he'd jumped ship and enrolled at USC, he'd known that it was over for him and Veronica. She was never going to forgive him for Madison, and he was going to drown by degrees in her condemnation if he didn't get gone yesterday. He just hadn't thought that meant Piz forever and always.

When he beat Piz up, he really did think it was The Right Decision. Granted, his logic circuits had a tendency to short out when he got that blindingly wrathful, but this seemed like a fairly simple equation. Piz hurt Veronica, ergo, Piz must be hurt in turn.

So when it came out that Piz wasn't the video voyeur, of course he'd felt bad. Because he beat up the wrong guy, yes, but mostly because he'd managed to push Piz even more into her arms. Because now she HAD to stay with him, had to prove to herself- to everyone- that she didn't consistently make the same bad choices. That she made new and different bad choices every time.

And that's what he was. The bad choice. She'd made that abundantly clear when she showed up at the door of his suite the evening after the cafeteria incident with Gory.

He'd felt electric all afternoon. He replayed the way his fist connected with Gory's face over and over again each time getting the same epinephrine high. And the way she'd looked at him, that barely there quirk in the corner of her mouth... She knew it to, couldn't deny it now. They belonged together; no one was ever going to get her the way he did.

So when she knocked on his door, he wasn't surprised. He'd been waiting for this. She was going to yell, and scream, and curse him, and then they were going to have angry, mind-bending sex. And when she woke up in the morning, she was going to try to run and he was going to make love to her until she was boneless and couldn't move. And then he was going to tell her he loved her, that he couldn't live without her, and that he wasn't going to let her leave until she told him how she felt, definitively, one way or the other. And it had gone pretty much exactly like that…

He arrived at the door shirtless and rubbing a towel through his hair, having just stepped out of the shower. He hadn't wanted to wash off Gory's blood until the last possible second, wanted to stay wrapped in that moment as though the Russian's blood was a totem, a charm that made him stronger.

She'd stood in the doorway with that desolate thousand yard stare she could summon at a moment's notice. "What is this poor little rich boy, bullshit!?" she'd screamed as an opening salvo. "You never listen! Why couldn't you just leave it alone? I don't need you to protect me, not when you don't even have the good sense to protect yourself! They're going to kill you Logan; don't think for a second this is something you can talk your way out of."

When she paused for breath, he leapt in crushing her lips with his own. He felt the soft skin of her lower lip split against the enamel of her teeth, but he couldn't find in himself to care, the soft copper taste of her blood on his tongue. And she was no less eager to spill his blood, raking her blunt nails over the taut skin of his biceps and leaving little pink furrows as he held her captive against the wall.

He pulled back from her mouth as white dots began to dance in his vision, fuzzing out in a lack of oxygen. "You're going to die," she hissed out between clenched teeth tinged faintly pink by the wash of blood and saliva. "Yeah, some day," he growled back before claiming her mouth again.

He shifted his weight so that she was pinned against the wall by one broad shoulder, giving him the freedom of his left hand as he stroked the curve of her jaw and felt the flutter of her pulse burst into double time. Her breath came out in excited rasps. He lost all track of his breathing as her teeth bit down tightly on the stiff tendons of his neck. His hips pressed her back against the wall, instinctively and without any active input from his brain, which was entirely MIA.

Kicking off her shoes, she climbed his legs, bracing herself against the wall, and pressing her sharp heels into the soft flesh behind his knees. She almost took him down, his knee buckling just slightly before he locked himself in place. She'd stopped her advance as she bound her legs around his hips, having won the high ground.

She wrapped her hands into the curve of his neck and forced his mouth to hers, her fingers pulling the skin and hair at the base of his skull painfully taut. He slid his hands under her tee shirt, his stabbing fingers bumping over the expanse of her ribs with enough force to bruise her too thin skin, before he pulled the garment off entirely.

His hands slithered back down to her waist, and he pulled her against him, the flush of heat from her skin sending all his senses into overdrive. Veronica whimpered and twisted her heels into the small of his back, forcing the muscle into a thick knot that burned painfully.

Logan pulled back from her, his lip curled into a fierce sneer as twin flowers of pain blossomed in his lower back. Veronica panted sharply, her eyes narrowed and dangerously bright. He wrapped one arm fully around her waist, the tips of his fingers burrowing uncomfortably into her kidney, and strode towards the bedroom, slapping the heavy door open with the flat of his free hand. The sound was almost impossibly loud, startling both of them, and for a split second they stilled against each other. Then he saw that irrepressible defiance reappear in her eyes, and, resolved, he fell down with her onto the thick coverlet of his bed, allowing the weight of his hips to pin and immobilize her.

Logan pulled back and watched her, stretched out beneath him. She was still pushing against him impatiently, her eyes flashing between frustration and smug satisfaction at the man towering over, completely in her thrall. His mouth fell to hers as he once again, caught in her inevitable pull.

The hot tangle of their bodies sparked and caught, driving them to a passion both well-remembered and - as it was every time they managed to reunite their fractured little lives - entirely new. Logan was blinded, obliterated, destroyed by the sensation. He couldn't be sure, but Veronica seemed equally devastated.

"I hate you," she said, her voice muffled and blandly conversational.

"It must be an even-numbered day, then," was his curt reply.

He was too tired, too sore, too drained to move, and it was his fervent hope she felt the same, but just in case she was planning on leaving, he rolled off her by the smallest possible margin, threw a weighty arm over her, and promptly fell into heavy pantomime sleep. She struggled halfheartedly for a second or two before she allowed herself a deeply annoyed sigh and tucked herself under his chin. He smiled as her breathing slowed and shallowed in sleep.

He dozed fitfully, trying to refuse himself sleep, because he couldn't risk her leaving yet. This was only phase one of the plan. Still, for all his good intentions, it was her early morning shifting that awoke him, suddenly anxious. But she wasn't leaving, not yet.

"Hi," he whispered into her hair, stroking a finger along her cheek.

"Hi," she returned looking up at him, not smiling, but not running either.

"I love you," he said, "and I don't need you to say it back," he stated quickly seeing the panicky look that passed over her face. She seemed to relax, although wariness was certainly the most obvious emotion in her repertoire that morning. "But I do need to know, if it's… Should I… Are you ever coming back?"

She turned her head, let her bangs fall into her eyes, and watched the shimmery swimming image of him in her peripheral vision.

"Logan, I…"

Her phone sang out announcing a text, and she leapt up began digging through her discarded clothes, through her bag as though missing this phone call would mean the end of the world. She located the phone at the bottom of the pile and clung to it like it was an electronic beacon on a life raft.

Staring at the screen, she paled and began dressing in marathon fashion.

"I'll be back. Soon. I have to deal with this. I'll be back," she said, gesturing with her phone to the door, distractedly. She smiled, almost certainly meant to be reassuringly, as she ran to the door and glanced at him, "I'll call you."

He smiled back and waved her on, leaning on his elbows over the back of the couch. As the door closed behind her, he stood and headed back into the bedroom to pack up his things. He had his answer. And it wasn't going to get any more definitive.

Everything he owned, two years of living in the Neptune Grand, and he was able to fit all his belongings into a cardboard box which had once contained mozzarella sticks, donated by the kitchen.

Two years of living in Neptune, a town he fucking hated. Two years in a goddamn hotel living like a fucking gypsy in the hopes that she'd make up her goddamn mind and pick HIM.

Well she had picked. And he was heading north on the Pacific Coast Highway.

He hadn't been back to Neptune after that. Although, apparently, she hadn't made it her home too much longer either. He'd seen Dick in LA or Vegas, and there was really no one else in town he owed any loyalty to. That realization had been simultaneously freeing and incredibly pathetic.

But this is too much to ask of him, this sudden re-insertion of Veronica Mars into his life. And Piz. And sweet God, their baby. Fuck. Why'd they ever come back? He thought they'd been doing just peachy on opposite sides of the continent.

* * *

After a long night of trying to come up with legitimate reasons not to hire God of War Security, Logan decides just to throw his weight around.

"I don't know if they're the right fit for this company," Logan says, his voice placid as he leans back in his chair and tents his fingers. He calmly regards Casey and Connor. "The staff would be all new in the West Coast location. She has no experience with LA events. It'll be a clusterfuck."

Connor waves off Logan's objections, "Psh. What are you talking about, she's fantastic!? She did the security for the premiere of that werewolf space opera POS I was in two years ago. In fact, she's been doing all my East coast privates security for the last five years. And despite her New York area code, she has south Cali connections all over!" Connor goes a little quiet, his tone understanding and a little beseeching.

Logan's hackles are immediately raised.

"I know you guys used to be friends when you were kids. I don't know what happened, but I think it's time you gave her another chance. She found Lilly's killer! Isn't that enough bona fides right there? I mean, it's been almost fifteen years, let it…"

Logan breaks in, "Former childhood friends? No. Dude, we dated. For like two years."

Connor's eyes round a little. "Oh. Wow. She never said anything…"

Hmmm. What an odd little stabbing sensation, Logan thought as he struggled to keep from fidgeting.

"…Still, we're all grown-ups, right? It's been years. And we can't eliminate everyone you've 'dated' from the hiring pool, or we'd never be able to make another movie."

Done with appeals to common sense, Logan tries another approach. "She's 95 pounds soaking wet! What's she gonna do, snark some gun-toting maniac to death!?"

Connor spreads his arms in an expansive gesture, "First off, at least in New York she has big guys who do all the actual 'threats of violence,' and secondly, you are completely underestimating her. I once saw her take down this asshole with a leg sweep before she tasered the FUCK out of him. I'm not gonna lie. It was pretty hot." His eyes go slightly dreamy.

Logan tastes just a little bit of bile at the back of his throat.

Casey nods firmly, "I'm with Connor on this. The reputation of her company precedes her. And Veronica is sharp as hell. That MoonCalf collective thing was not my finest moment, but I got some real good out of it. I trust Veronica's judgment. Still feel like an asshole for acting like that at my grandmother's funeral, but I had to show my parents I understood my reprogramming… Maybe I take this opportunity to apologize…" Casey's eyes seem to drift into memory.

"Gentlemen!" Logan all but shouts, "The question is not whether or not you want to pork my ex, the question is whether or not she can run security at the fucking premiere!"

Connor looks bemused but there is a wicked glint in Casey's eye.

"Fine, let's take a vote," Casey shrugs unconcernedly.

"Great. Nay," Logan spits out.

"Aye," say both his partners in unison.

He just glares at them stonily, defeated, "It has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried. Winston Churchill."

"Hey," says Casey brightly, "Logan's back!"

A/N: So here is the opening chapter of my future fic. Ultimately, I think this is going to be three stories, three separate mysteries, and probably pretty long... I hope you enjoyed the opening! So... There is a dirty version of this chapter. I think you can probably guess which scene was cleaned-up. I don't know if you guys want to read it, and I don't know if it would be a good idea to post it to since I know they do not support that sort of thing on their site! But if you would be interested, let me know, and I might post it separately to keep the story relatively clean (except for the swearing... There's going to be a lot of swearing). Reviews and con-crit always great appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

TITLE: Just Business, Part 1; Start-up Costs

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 5,605

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later, see author's note)

SUMMARY: In the wake of a PR disaster with his previous security firm, wunderkind film producer Logan Echolls is looking for some new blood to work the premiere of his latest blockbuster. But the new blood is actually old blood... And maybe even bad blood at that. But Veronica Mars knows security like nobody else, and after all, it's just business...

SPOILERS: The whole dang show. Future Fic.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

Chapter 2

Outvoted by his partners, Logan reluctantly accepts the God of War Security bid, and although he does everything he can to avoid it, he is still forced into meeting with Veronica and her new COO for the West Coast branch. Casey and Connor are both smiling, enjoying Logan's suffering in a very unprofessional fashion.

As she walks into the conference room, she looks every inch the professional that she is widely proclaimed to be, and her West Coast partner is polished and assured in a way that is probably very reassuring for most of her clients. Logan, not so much…

He's wearing a suit, but it's still Weevil.

If he took of the charcoal jacket and rolled up the sleeve of his classic blue Oxford, you'd still find Lilly's name tattooed on his shoulder.

He's still a thug.

But then, that's exactly what they were looking for, wasn't it.

"Good afternoon gentleman. Allow me to introduce Eli Navarro. He'll be leading operations here in California after I return to the New York offices. Our VP of development, Mr. Stosh Piznarsky, sends his regrets. Piz has Emma today," she says as an aside with a smile to Logan, the only one who has been introduced to the gorgeous little creature.

Casey doesn't blink an eye at Navarro, but Connor scrutinizes him for a second, and his eyes go wide when he recognizes him from the poker debacle all those years ago. If he had been concerned about Navarro's ability to menace, all those doubts have fled in the wake of that memory.

"If I remember correctly, Mr. Navarro has something of a record," Logan says lazily, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans back in his chair. He glances to Connor and Casey who exchange worried glances.

"I'm not guilty of any of things I was convicted for," Weevil says. The expression is apparently meant to be a smile, but it's so wide his eye teeth show, and it comes off far more feral than friendly.

Veronica shoots Weevil a sharp look. "While Mr. Navarro does have a petty record, I trust him implicitly. I owe my life to this man, and he has been hired on to manage the West Coast branch. If you are uncomfortable with working with Mr. Navarro, than we must part ways here."

Casey and Connor exchange helpless shrugs while Logan waits with bated breath.

"No," says Connor, a little hesitantly, "We have no issue working with Mr. Navarro. Your word is recommendation enough."

Logan huffs in defeat, again. Navarro sends him the most insulting smile…

It's more than Logan can bear. "Hang on. This is going to be a big event for us. I'm not comfortable handing it over to someone who has never supported an LA premiere and Hispanic girl Friday!"

Veronica looks primly disapproving but Weevil's expression is murderous. But before he can do something that would make his employment untenable, Veronica sets a hand on his arms and he immediately stills.

"Fine. We are certainly unproven; I can't deny that. What would you suggest?" Veronica asks frostily.

Logan is momentarily silent, as he had no plan beyond poking the dragon.

Casey pipes up after a moment, "We could give you a trial run on the post-production wrap party and screening. That'll be Friday here in one of the studio ballrooms. It'll be mostly editors and stuff, but there are bound to be a few press looky-loos trying to get a scoop."

"Then," Casey continues looking pointedly at Logan, "In the VERY unlikely case that we are unsatisfied with your performance, we'll have a few weeks to secure another firm."

"Fine. We will provide security for the party – at a reduced rate – as a test run," Veronica smiles icily. "Well, if that's settled, than let's get down to brass tacks," Veronica says, smiling at the joined partners of DreamJob Productiuons, LEG. "Have you chosen a venue?"

Connor pipes up, "We're looking for a real Old Hollywood feel. This is going to be a classic must-see summer event movie, and we're looking to feed into that old school gritty glamour. Serials, swashbuckling, all that jazz. Think Indiana Jones sans Crystal Skulls. And with that in mind, we've decided to go with the Sunset Regent."

Logan's jaw tenses just slightly, and he sees Veronica cut her glance to him for a nanosecond, but she says without missing a beat, "Yeah, that is a fantastic old building. A real vintage feel. She'll be a wonderful spot for the premiere party…" and Logan is grateful.

He had been in on the decision to pick the Regent, ultimately, and he knew that that the location was solid. He'd felt no need to explain to Connor and Casey just why he didn't like the old hotel, and so he kept any objections he might have had to himself.

Just like DreamJob Productions would be unable to make a movie if they never hired anyone he had slept with, Logan would be virtually unable to leave the house if he never went anywhere where he had negative associations in LA.

Veronica is the picture of efficiency as she asks for information on the venue and guest list. She pulls out a basic floor schematic for the Sunset Regent, and he sees a couple other high end venues carefully labeled in her bag. She is the very picture of careful planning. He watches her scoping out blueprints and facility maps of the Sunset Regent with his partners, pointing out likely areas to establish checkpoints for guest credentials and detailing the best emergency evacuation routes.

It's annoying, but not surprising. He's never doubted she'd be good at this job, however much he argued that specific point. And even he, who is desperately looking for reasons to remove Veronica from his presence, cannot deny that she has a consummate understanding of her job. But then Logan's objections to Veronica have never been based on her competence at her job. If anything it goes the other way…

There were a lot of things that Logan historically resented about Veronica, and her work was pretty high up on the list. Not at the top of the list, though. That, naturally, was pretty much locked up by the disappointed looks she would always give him that made him feel like a worm. Still, her work ranked far, far above her penchant for speaking lines along with the movie.

He'd hated the way she threw herself into danger's path. He'd hated the way she never waited for back-up, canine or otherwise. He'd hated the way a case – ANY CASE – was a better use of her time then being with him.

In the background of his musings, he can Connor and Casey make a bunch of non-verbal noises of consent, nodding along energetically to Veronica's neatly sketched out plans. It's vaguely stomach-turning, but beyond a general antipathy to all things Veronica, he's having a hard time pinning down his displeasure.

"Well," says Connor, the picture of affability, "If we have the boring stuff out of the way, I wanna hear more about you! What you been up to? You just disappeared on us! You could have knocked me over with a feather when I spotted you at that dank little club in New York a couple years back."

Veronica seems taken aback and fidgety, and Logan is intrigued at her sudden reticence.

"I don't know if it's really appropriate to go into all that…" she hems and haws trying to beg off, but Connor and Casey are having none of it. Logan is also deeply curious, but he does his best to retain his careful look of practiced boredom.

And, of course, perhaps there are no words in the English language that do so much to guarantee that a subject will NOT be dropped.

"Well," she begins hesitantly, "I dropped out of Hearst after freshman year… It was that summer that I moved to New York."

Weevil keeps sending her pointed looks, but Veronica is studiously ignoring them.

"You may know that my father was running for sheriff at the time. I made a bad decision, and in covering for me, Dad was exposed to a lot of scrutiny," her face is wretched for just a moment before she schools her face into something more composed.

"After Dad lost the election, things were… strained… between us. He was gone pretty much constantly on various bounties. I kept my head down, just trying to make it through the academic year to my internship with the FBI…"

Connor breaks in, "Oh that's right, I thought you were going to be a G Man! Why aren't you still in the FBI?"

Veronica smiles, a little grimly. "I never joined the Bureau. I got as far as the physical at Quantico but no further. I received a minor injury a few weeks before I left Neptune..."

When he hears her says this, Weevil's brows beetle even more than usual and he sends her a low-slung, cutting glance, but he doesn't say anything. It looks like he is working very hard to stop his lip from curling in its signature style.

Unaware of the play of emotions on her new chief of security's face, Veronica wears a little residual scowl of her own, "They said they were benching me because of the injury, but that I should reapply in the future. That was just a bullshit excuse, though. You remember that _Xena, Warrior Princess_-type who was heading up Duncan's investigation?" She asks Logan, while Casey and Connor exchange bemused glances. "Guess who was also second string on heading up the interns program! I heard through the grapevine that she'd been moved to a babysitting assignment because of failures in the field."

She pauses to take a casual drink from the glass of water in front of her as the men in the meeting stare at her with varying levels of intensity... Logan and Weevil apparently both trying for first place. "And then you add the fact that I had been recommend for the internship by a man later convicted of murderer – and that I had been recently embroiled in a high profile altercation with the Russian mafia – and I guess I can understand why they decided to pass on me. In retrospect, I'm not sure I was ever federal material. There are an awful lot of rules to follow…"

Looking mildly spooked, Connor clears his throat, "Um, you want to bring us in on the Russian Mafia thing?"

She takes another sip of her water and looks genuinely surprised, "Logan didn't tell you? Wallace was under surveillance for this Hearst secret society, and Piz and I were accidentally filmed in a compromising position by this Russian mobster's kid who was heading up the pledge class… Although, seriously, is there even such a thing as a leaked make-out tape?"

"Anyway," she continues, unfazed, "Logan found out and kicked the shit out of the Bratva captain's baby boy, and said baby boy was found dead the next day. Piz was actually held in questioning for that murder, and Logan probably would have been brought in to, but he was too damn quick, weren't you?" She looks at him with a too cheerful smile, and Logan glances away uncomfortably.

She waves her hand dismissively, as if it had been no big deal, "His alibi was rock solid of course. After Aaron's death, the Neptune Grand went crazy bulking up its security. The cameras confirmed his whereabouts during the time of the murder." Her cheeks pink just slightly, and Connor and Casey can't possibly notice… But Logan does.

"Turns out that virtually the entire Sorokin clan was wiped out. Word got out that Gory had named Bratva secrets for his little skull-and-bones club. If Lev Sorokin's secrets were being spilled for the sake of some stupid networking exercise between West Coast Ivy pinheads and Silicon Valley code jockeys, it was plain that the other families could no longer support the risk the Sorokins posed."

All of the guys look astonished, but Logan looks vaguely ill. Weevil watches Logan with a barely disguised expression of disgust.

"So," Veronica says cheerfully, "It's almost like a fairy tale. It has a happy – albeit bloody – ending! And my former mentor was only FRAMED for murder, so really, I'm practically a girl scout," she says with a coquettish grin that looks almost genuine. It's probably working for Casey and Connor, but Logan – God help him – knows better.

Casey lets out a small, amazed laugh, "So… Then what? How did you end up in New York running private security?"

Her expression dims just a little bit, slightly bitterer, "I didn't have a lot left in Neptune to keep me…"

"What about that guy you cut from the flagpole? Whatever happened to… Willis? The basketball star. I know you guys were really close," Casey says, and Logan physically flinches.

He hadn't exactly kept up with Neptune gossip, but by virtue of their shared business – and maybe their shared guilt – he DID keep in touch with Mac…

"Wallace. His name was Wallace Fennel. Wallace is dead," she says quietly, stonily. All traces of cheer are gone, wiped away almost instantaneously.

Casey and Connor glance at Veronica with profound and obvious sympathy. Weevil's expression is unchanged, but he lays his clenched fist next to her elbow in mute solidarity. Logan doesn't look at her at all, unwilling to swallow that much of her pain in any one sitting.

"He was killed in a terrorist bombing in Uganda. He had joined the Forgotten Children program for the summer, and he was watching a soccer game in a roadside cafe during his off time. Turns out, the son of some local warlord was also there, and the lackeys of a rival warlord planted an IED hoping to take out the heir apparent. It didn't. The kid survived with just a few scratches. Wallace wasn't as lucky. They identified him by his dental records. He'd only been there a few weeks." A pained huff thrums through her teeth, and she looks at her hands clenched around the lip of the conference table. "He was angry with me when he left, and we didn't properly say goodbye."

"He thought I was treating Piz badly. And that was undeniably true," she says staring off into the distance, no longer really conscious of her audience or the potential for oversharing. Her gaze is hazily unfocused and her face is full of unvoiced anguish. Her guilt clearly swamps her, "I was treating him very badly. Very badly indeed." It's probably subconscious, the way her eyes slip unbidden to Logan for a fraction of a second before she straightens her shoulders and attempts a wan smile. "But I made it up to him. He forgave me, and he has been an absolute rock since then."

Logan tastes bile again. Maybe it's become a psychosomatic reaction to hearing Piz's name…

She gulps silently and glances to Weevil who nods almost imperceptibly, encouragingly. "A parent had gone MIA and my best friend was dead. Deja – fucking – vu. So I did what I did best then: I ran. I ran straight to New York. I needed some place new, some place not quite so choked with symbolism and import. Then, of course, I wanted to be the one to tell Jackie about Wallace. And Piz was already there for his internship with Pitchfork Media, so… And that's how I got into security, actually. You remember Yolanda?" she says, trying manfully to master her grief and continue her tale.

Casey nods, Logan shifts uncomfortably, and Connor blinks uncomprehendingly and shakes his head in the negative, but nobody interrupts.

"Well her dad, Bone, was producing a new hip-hop group and they were in the offices at Pitchfork for an interview. He had muscly security nine ways to Sunday, but that didn't prevent someone from making off with the MC's diamond studded harmonica chain. Piz mentioned he knew a detective and called me in. Bone recognized me and threatened his people if they didn't cooperate. A couple of hours later, the MC had his chain back, and I had my first angel investor in what became God of War Personal Security Services. It just kind of snowballed from there."

"And now you're back in South Cali! What brings you back home?" Connor says, awkwardly smiling, glad to move away from the less-than charming parts of catching up on her life story.

"Well, we were getting a lot of pressure to have bi-coastal locations from our New York customers. Bone is based out of LA, of course, and he was getting pretty noisy about the ungratefulness of a certain company he had invested in refusing to assist their original investor," Veronica says with a rueful smile.

"And Piz thought it was time I make use of some of my other West Coast connections to expand the business. Luke's working as an agent and talent scout now with the Boras Corporation down in Newport. I have a meeting with him tomorrow about maybe providing security for some of his clients. And you of course," she smiles at Connor, placing a friendly hand on top of his own, "Musn't forget my favorite client, the hugely famous movie star."

Logan's eye twitches involuntarily, and Weevil smiles – genuinely smiles with real joy – for the first time during the entire meeting.

"Plus," she continues, "On a purely personal note, we wanted Emma to get to know her family out here." Veronica says, the smile on her lips as it always is when she thinks on her little girl. Then her blue eyes go just a bit cloudy and her smile goes slightly wan, "It was just time to come home."

"Well," says Connor with his golden boy grin, "We are so glad you did."

* * *

Connor, Casey, and Logan stand and shake hands with Veronica and Weevil, everyone pretending that this is not the weirdest and most wrenching job interview they have ever sat through.

Connor and Casey invite him out to lunch with them, but Logan is wound a bit too tightly to fake his usual nonchalance with his partners, and he decides that today he isn't up to the level of evasion of that would be necessary to keep them from attempting to worm his issues out of him.

Logan has a therapist – this is LA, after all – but the good doctor was chosen precisely BECAUSE of his patent inability to make Logan open up.

He wanders the building aimlessly – which is apparently a part of this new, post-Veronica routine – only to realize he has circled back on himself, and the conference room.

It is an accident he comes across the two-old-friends-cum-new-business-partners. He doesn't MEAN to eavesdrop. That would be beneath his dignity. But it would be equally true to say that he is desperate to figure out the context of the little psychodrama that Veronica and Weevil just played out silently in the boardroom.

And it would also be fair to say that Weevil has always set his teeth on edge. Loving the same girl will do that to you, apparently…

And Veronica clearly has a whole NEW history with Weevil that he knows nothing about.

It isn't terribly honorable to listen at keyholes, but then honor has never been a virtue Logan claimed for himself. He leans silently against the hallway wall, his ear canted towards the corner, as he listens to their almost hilariously loud whispering…

"What the fuck was that, V?" Weevil bites out between his teeth.

"What the fuck was what?" She sighs wearily.

"I can't believe you're gonna come back here and act like that pendejo did nothing wrong!"

Veronica huffed a pained little laugh, "You're imagining hurts on my behalf now? He _didn't_ do anything wrong. You know why I left, and he had nothing to do with it!"

"Ha," he barked angrily, "Pull the other one. A little injury, V!?"

"Fine. You don't have to believe me." She hisses frostily, "I know your issues with him precede me, so I guess I don't mind if you create imaginary reasons to hate him. But you keep it out of the business. I'm serious Eli."

Her voices softens, fiercely tender. "You know I owe you everything. I can't repay you for that, but I can get you a job with this up-and-coming security company. Your own team to manage. And you are the perfect hire for this firm. Eli, I need you at my back. Please, please work with me on this. Work with him," she pleads.

"And if he starts up his shit again?" Weevil huffs, subtly weakening.

"It's not like that," she scoffs, "What, am I supposed to turn down the multimillion dollar contract out of spite for him being mean to me what I was 16? This is just business."

"I'm not worried about the 16 year old asshole with the crowbar, though I can't say I'm a huge fan of him either. No, I'm worried about the 19 year old who left you blee…"

"ELI," she breaks in firmly, I'm fine, okay. You're just like your abuela, you worry too much…"

Weevil snorts ungenerously, angry, "I think we both know that YOU worry too little."

Logan can hear her shuffle closer to Weevil and imagines her placing a quelling hand on his arm and says softly, "I'm doing better. Ever since Emma came. Heck, I haven't been admitted to the emergency room since she was a year old," she says, jovially. But when Weevil's doesn't immediately respond, she lowers her voice, "I promise. I'm pulling back. She's helped me put things in perspective."

Weevil's voice is a little muffeled when he says, "Well thank God for that baby, then. I came so close to losing you. You know I've got your back, no matter what. But I don't ever want to see you like that again. You nearly killed me, V." Logan can practically see it; Weevil in her arms, his voice muffled in her soft blonde hair.

"You don't have to worry," she says into his shoulder.

"Like that's gonna stop me," Weevil murmurs back, "Alright, enough of this shit. I think I'm growing ovaries. I'll see you at the office tomorrow, so we can plan the little culo's party."

Veronica sighs elaborately, "God, Spanish is such a beautiful language…"

Weevil huffs a laugh and Logan pulls back around the corner as the man strides out of the conference room. Logan watches Weevil walk away with the same entitled swagger he used on the bridge all those years ago. Right up until he got kicked in the face. The thought is soothing.

Logan muses for a moment, listening to Veronica release a tense, whistling sigh followed by a sad little chuckle. He doesn't LIKE Veronica. He hasn't liked Veronica since late September back in 2003. He's felt a lot of conflicting things for the little blonde in the last 13 years, but friendship isn't really one of them. Still, there's no point in making their new working relationship any more difficult than necessary.

And it would be a bald-faced lie to say he isn't INSANELY curious about where she's been and what she's been doing for the last decade. Her CliffNotes version of events has posed more questions than it answered.

He stands in the doorway for a moment, watching her shuffle her papers around. It is a very bad idea to engage her in a conversation. Because it's never JUST a conversation between them. It's a conversation and an argument. A conversation and shotgun blast. A conversation and a broken lamp. A conversation and a night of passion.

But at the same time… He doesn't really feel like he has a choice. It's kind of mesmerizing. It's like staring at a sawblade until you just can't help it. You have to stick your hand in. It's inevitable.

"Ms. Mars," he nods to her when she finally looks up. Startled, she stares for a second before she composes herself.

"Mr. Echolls," she returns with a genuine, if tired, smile.

Which is a staggering occurrence all on its own. The last contact he'd had with her was the physical equivalent of a Dear John letter, and that was a decade ago. Her smile is doing serious damage to his resolve not to get sucked into another unwinnable morass of sticky, soul-draining emotion.

Still, he is determined to let NOTHING she does rock him. It's all water off a goddamned duck's back.

She has finally gathered all her materials together, and he waves a gentlemanly hand to offer her first exit. She steps close to him as he holds the door, juggling her bag, files and keys, and for one insane moment as he stares down at her, he is going to kiss her.

But he doesn't because his instinct for self-preservation, while severely weakened around Veronica, never abandons him completely. And today does not feel like a good day to die.

More than anything, he is helped by a nice metaphorical cold shower when he spots the heart-shaped picture frame keychain bearing her baby. And by extension, her baby daddy.

Her breath catches and her eyes widen in sudden confusion as she gazes up at him, and he realizes he's probably scowling at her. He quickly schools his expression into a gently mocking smile, and she seems to relax.

They walk side by side, carefully not looking at each other, as he walks her to her car.

"Wow," she says, playfully, "An escort from the head honcho. What did I do to deserve such an honor?"

"I don't want you nicking anything on your way out the door," he grouses, good-naturedly.

Veronica snorts, "You know me too well, Logan."

Oh God. Just hearing her say his name…

He reins it in quickly, "May be so… In fact only one part of your tale really surprised me... You're a college dropout!? Can't believe you wound up such a loser…" Logan says insouciantly, examining the fingernails he has just polished on his jacket lapel.

"I dropped out of Hearst, but then I TRANSFERRED into NYU. Granted, there was about a year in between those events." Veronica says, suddenly stopping abruptly in the hallway and turning to him accusingly. Her arms are wrapped around her files like a shield and one eyebrow is raised challengingly, "Meanwhile I was also working a full time job and trying to get God of War off the ground. Take the silver spoon out of your mouth so you can kiss my ass."

Logan rocks back on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, and nods obligingly, "Fair enough."

She nods, satisfied, and they continue walking down the hall.

"How did you even find out we were looking for new security?" Logan asks.

"Connor asked me to submit a bid," she returns, surprised.

"So that whole 'OMG, I'm so shocked to see you' thing was a complete farce for my benefit?" he says, a little heat coming through in his tone.

"No, I think you misunderstood. I think he was HAPPY to see me," she catches sight of his skeptical expression. "It DOES happen you know! Occasionally."

Logan shrugs in mild disbelief, and Veronica snorts grumpily, but she is wearing a hint of a smile.

"Assuming it won't violate any intact or pending non-disclosure agreements, what the hell happened with the last guys?" Veronica says in a stage whisper.

Logan groans, pained, "Acheron Security? Oh it was a shit-show. We've got this aging diva, she's trying to put together a sitcom package. I didn't want to touch it with a thirty foot pole. But Connor's mom is a huge fan, so..." He gives the international shrug of put upon sons everywhere.

"Anyway, this lady is insane," he continues. "Hugely demanding. She has a rider for 5 minute interviews, for fuck's sake. Claims she requires a security detail at all times. Preferably young and handsome, naturally. Meanwhile, she has taken to leaking details of her own plans in hopes of drawing out the paps."

Veronica snorts derisively, and Logan nods, "Exactly. So her usual security guy gets this part. 'Thug in restaurant #2', but it's his big break, right? So they send out a new kid. Young, handsome, and inexperienced as fuck. Gets a little pushy with our diva's favorite paparazzi as he stands out by the gate. Diva comes out to 'mediate' and generally revel in the attention. Brings her dog. Ugly little thing with a smashed in face… Pekingese? Anyway, Young and Dumb shoves Favorite Pap. Favorite Pap stumbles off the curb, drops his Nikon D3 on the dog. Splat. She makes a big stink about him being studio security, PETA shows up out of NOWHERE, and we get the bills and the negative press."

Veronica cringes sympathetically, and then her face brightens in a smile. "Well, your loss is my gain!"

"Your compassion is overwhelming, Ms. Mars," Logan says dryly.

"It's all part of the God of War package," she grins, as they finally stop beside her car. Small, dark, unassuming. Convertible. Deja-fucking-vu. He is imploding here, and he must do something to stop it…

She speaks and breaks him out of the awful nostalgia. "I gotta say, you've really built something impressive here Logan. I was surprised…"

There, a perfect window… Logan breaks in glibly, though an edge of steel peeks out, "That I haven't drunk my way through ALL of Daddy Dearest's money?"

Veronica rolls her eyes and tightens her jaw just a little, "That you went into movies. You always seemed pretty down on the whole scene. As for the other thing… I'm not one to judge anybody for their vices."

"Wow. Now, that IS new," Logan says, his face a smiling rictus.

Veronica's teeth grind, but she manages to eke out a tight smile, "Deserved that, I guess."

And now HE feels guilty. So not everything has changed, then. That is a nasty little Jedi mind trick of hers, and further proof that it is a bad, BAD decision to get any closer to her then is absolutely necessary. The only way out of a conversational black hole like this is a sudden and abrupt change of topic.

"You and your band of Merry Men gonna be ready for the party on Friday?" Logan quips doubtfully.

"Oh have no fear, the place'll be locked up tighter than Friar Tuck's belt," Veronica says, her smile still tight

"Robin Hood puns?" He looks at her pityingly.

"You started it," she says, apparently genuinely affronted for the first time today.

"Any chance we're gonna get to see you do a leg sweep and taser somebody? You know, for a little light dinner entertainment," Logan asks, glib.

She shakes her head, ruefully, "Connor told you about that? No, Weevil's going to be running the show on Friday. He needs a trial run too, especially if he's going to be heading up our West Coast units. I'm just gonna be there with my usual arm candy," she smiles, and then it sets a touch. "And you're gonna be NICE, right? You and Piz: water under the bridge, correct? No bruising necessary."

"Please," says Logan disdainfully, "More than under the bridge. We've been through the water cycle twice."

"Fantastic. I'm holding you to that," she says with a smile that shows all her teeth, decidedly shark-like, as she tosses her armload of stuff into the passenger seat.

"Where you staying? Gotta be crowded with the whole family in your Dad's place," Logan says, fishing, for what he's not sure.

Veronica nods emphatically, "Yeah. Too crowded. And it's a two hour drive back to LA in traffic. And he's living at Alicia's now, anyway. Plus, Darrell's graduating in the spring and his friends are everywhere. And you know me… I like my space. We got a suite at the Sportsman's Lodge. Tax Deduction!" she cheers, throwing her arms up as if for a touchdown.

Logan ignores the outburst, "Who the hell is Darrell?"

Veronica drops her arms, chiding. "Alicia's son." This helps him not at all.

She looks a bit put out, "Wallace's little brother."

Logan raises an eyebrow in surprise, and Veronica shrugs.

"They got back together after... Everything. And that's great", she says, getting into her car, stiffening ever so slightly, "But I can't be hemmed in with them every night. It's just… Way too intense right now."

"But, on the other hand," she says, her enthusiasm returning, "Free babysitters. Dad and Alicia are going to be spending some quality time with Emma Friday. This will be the first time Piz and I will have had an evening out together in something like a year! It's hard work raising a baby and building a business at the same time. Still, Emma, this company… They've really grounded me." She appears almost… teary. "Gah, listen to me, the proud parent… Sickening!" and she shakes off the emotion.

She gives Logan a long appraising look, as she stares up at him from her perch in the car. Her hands grip the steering wheel tightly, and flex a little in what might be considered a fidget. "It was good to see you, Logan," she says, soberly, without even the hint of a smile. "I'll see you Friday."

And with that she roars away. Logan stalks off to his own car, his nerves jangling. He's not going to fall into the trap again and spend the evening in his office drinking.

He can do that at home.

A/N: I was so inspired by all of the kind reviews, story alerts, and story favorites that I couldn't help myself, and I have a new chapter for your just a week later. Thanks so much you guys! I can't make any hard and fast promises, but with this level of support, it's hard NOT to write a chapter a week. For those of you interested, I will be posting the "After Hours" version of the first chapter as its own story. I will probably post individual chapters with racy content there if you care to read them. And if you do not, DON'T WORRY. You won't be missing out on any plot points or vital information. As always, reviews and con-crit most gratefully appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

TITLE: Just Business, Part 1; Start-up Costs

AUTHOR: arbailey

WORD COUNT: 4,523

RATING: PG-13 for language (possible R later, see author's note)

SUMMARY: In the wake of a PR disaster with his previous security firm, wunderkind film producer Logan Echolls is looking for some new blood to work the premiere of his latest blockbuster. But the new blood is actually old blood... And maybe even bad blood at that. But Veronica Mars knows security like nobody else, and after all, it's just business...

SPOILERS: The whole dang show. Future Fic.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars, and this story is written as a tribute only. All borrowed dialogue remains the sole creative property of the talented writing staff.

Chapter 3

He didn't see her all week. She was scouting locations for their new offices, collaborating with the staff of the Sunset Regent, and holding interviews with Weevil. It was glorious. He savored every moment because Friday was judgment day. On Friday, he'd see her kitted out in her best and with Piz on her arm.

If it were just about anything else, he'd stay home and save himself the torment. But he can't miss his own party.

He wears the Dior tuxedo because he finds it to be particularly restrictive, cut close through the shoulders, and he'd like to have a reason to feel as uncomfortable as knows he inevitably will tonight.

And, possibly, he also knows that he looks like a goddamned Greek god in it.

He's greeted by Weevil at the door, checking invites, and predictably the new head of security for God of War's West Coast branch is just a _little_ bit more officious than he has to be. This is, of course, doubly infuriating, both because of the small delay and the fact that he can't fault a guy for being thorough. Weevil's wide smile as he waves Logan through makes it clear that he too has enjoyed the delicious catch-22 into which Logan has been placed.

Casey and Connor are standing in a cozy little clutch with Veronica and Piz, and when Connor spots him, he beckons Logan over energetically.

Logan huffs a defeated sigh and begins the long trek across the ballroom, his head down in dejection. Which is when he bumps, quite literally, into SinDee the receptionist.

"What a great party, Mr. Echolls," SinDee says, charmingly flushed as she totters a little bit on her heels, a drink in hand. She sparkles a little in her champagne-colored, sequined sheath, and Logan is careful not to peruse the long expanse of exposed leg.

"Please, call me Logan. Mr. Echolls was a murdering bastard," he says with a sharky smile.

"Right…. Sorry," SinDee says, her eyes a little wide with trepidation, smiling shakily and taking a too big swig of her vodka cranberry to cover her discomfort. She chokes a bit on the mouthful, and Logan is suitably chastised.

"That was out of line, SinDee, I apologize," he says, running a hand through his hair.

"Oh, please don't worry about it sir…" SinDee says, blushing embarrassedly right to her platinum blonde hairline.

"Sir," Logan grimaces, "That might be worse," he says as his expression morphs into a grin.

Her gaze is turned away from his face as her expression falls just a touch and she bites her lip.

Logan gently touches her arm to get her attention, "I'm just teasing SinDee. Have a good time tonight."

She looks at his hand on her arm and brightens immediately. She smiles, shyly pleased, although her cheeks still flame, "I will, si…Logan." She catches herself with a big grin.

"You have a nice evening," he says as he salutes her with his drink and goes off to face the lions, more centered and composed than before he talked to SinDee. It might be time to look into a raise for her…

As he crosses the room, he takes the opportunity to check Veronica out thoroughly. She's wearing this one-shouldered drapey, off-white thing falling nearly to her feet that makes her look like a Botticellian nymph. One small glimpse of gam peeks out from the long side slit, her leg encased to the knee in high-heeled golden sandals that wrap around the contours of her calf. Her hair is pulled up and back, little ringlets framing the contours of her cheekbones.

To be totally honest, it's a fairly demure ensemble, and on anyone else it would be a charming and decorous frock – perfect for a work party. But on her, it's the most erotic thing he seen in ages, which says nothing complementary about his recent sex life. The overall effect is stunning, and while some might argue the army green messenger bag slung on the back of her chair clashes, Logan does not agree. He is grimly triumphant in the knowledge that this evening is going to be exactly as difficult as he expected.

Piz looks like a complete and total idiot standing next to her, but Logan is fairly sure that's his considerable – and understandable – bias peeking through.

"Logan!" Connor says cheerfully, "Come meet the VP of Development!"

Logan's smile is tight as he shakes Piz's hand, "Oh yes, I'm quite familiar with his work."

Piz colors just slightly, but his smile doesn't fall, and he shakes Logan's hand firmly, "It's nice to see you again Logan."

"I hope you pay at least minimum wage, Logan," Veronica says, gazing at Logan approvingly, "Because you are working that suit."

Piz blinks, a pained expression on his face, "You'll have to forgive her. She wandered onto a pick-up lines tumblr a few weeks back. She's been pretty hard to live with."

Veronica looks playfully affronted and punches Piz in the shoulder.

"You forget I am a great wit, my dear," she says to Piz, eyes flashing, "All the best people want me at their parties."

Piz scoffs, "They're just hoping you'll Taser someone."

Veronica gives a sad little sigh before she begins grinning, "You're probably right."

"Hey, V?" Weevil says, coming up behind, "Small situation."

Veronica's smile remains in place, but quickly grows a professional veneer.

"If you'll excuse me gentlemen," she says as she strides away, conferring easily with Weevil.

Connor smiles cheerfully, "You know, I feel really solid about this hire, guys."

Casey nods agreeably and turns to give Logan a knowing, smug smile. Logan spins on his heel and marches in the opposite direction.

* * *

As he walks, he scans the room, finally spotting his targets at a secluded table near the bar.

They're cozied up on one side, facing away from him, but he'd know that shock of blonde – and the frankly far more recognizable brunette with a hot pink flash – anywhere.

Grabbing a chair and spinning it so he can lean his long arms on the back as he sits and speaks, Logan whispers in slightly hushed tones, "As I live and breathe, the Casablancases. How did you get in here? I'll have Weevil's laminated temporary security pass…"

"If I remember correctly, I was INVITED, one of the very few perks of being an investor…" Mac says, drawing herself up imperiously, her expression grim but her eyes flashing mischievously.

"And I'm just here to lend the joint some class," Dick says, reclining in his chair, his hands behind his head.

"Oh yeah, the place is lousy with class now, Dick. How's the cash cow?" Logan asks Mac with a smile.

"Mooing along quite crassly, thanks for asking," Mac returns, "Do you think they'd pull your Leone d'Oro if they knew you got your seed money from an ass-rating website?"

"Pssssh," Logan says dismissively, "As if the Italians would be put off by a little thing like that. They appreciate a nice ass as much as anyone."

Mac grins, "See, this is why you're the hot-shot producer. You've got your finger on the pulse of the world!"

Mac glances past Logan's shoulder, and he can tell by her expression that she has spotted Veronica. Her face lights up before she shutters the big display and attempts to downplay her reaction to seeing her old friend. She cuts a glance to her husband and says, with a significant look, "You two catch up. I'm gonna go mingle."

Dick kisses her cheek and cheerfully waves her on her way before turning to his oldest friend.

"So, Mars is looking tight tonight," Dick says conversationally.

Logan chuckles, wryly, "So much for Mac's attempt at cloak-and-dagger subtlety. I think you were supposed to quietly ignore Veronica's existence in solidarity with me."

"Hey, caveat emptor, bitches. She knew who I was when she married me…" Dick says with a casual shrug. "But seriously, mhm! Tight!" Dick continues, somewhat clumsily miming a sex act that would be far more efficient if he were standing.

Logan shoots him a sharp glance, but Dick just grins wider, patently refusing to take the hint.

"Ya know, I never got it." He continues, blithe. "I never got why you'd debase yourself for her. She's cute enough, if a bit scrawny," Dick says cupping a large pair of imaginary breasts and waggling his eyebrows. Subtle. "But I never could peg what she did that got you all twisted up in knots. I mean, I had theories…" Dick says with a dreamy, lecherous look in his eyes.

Logan gives Dick a look that would freeze most people's blood, but Dick just snickers until his expression resolves into something softer and more contemplative.

"But then," Dick continues, the leering all gone, "I got serious about Mac. And then I understood."

Logan looks past his friend, unwilling to have this conversation, and shakes his head, "Well, then you thought wrong. Not the same situation. At all. You and Mac have something really solid. All V and I EVER had was an energetic physical connection and some really fucked-up power dynamics."

"Oh," Dick says, tapping his chin contemplatively, "Then you were never in love with Veronica."

"I confused powerful chemistry with deeper feeling," Logan says, shrugging carelessly.

"And, of course, it naturally follows that you are not in love with her now," Dick continues as Logan gives him a panicked, incredulous look.

Dick busts out laughing, and Logan's brows draw in as he looks at his friend in annoyed confusion.

"Okay, whatever man." Dick finally settles down and huffs a last small, wry chuckle. "Hey, you know what my favorite thing about my wife is?"

Logan turns a hard eye on his best friend, disconcerted by the sudden change in conversational topic. "You do know that if you say her ass, I'll tell her."

"Oh, don't get me wrong," Dick says, his eyes wide, "Her ass is PHENOMENAL." He stops and makes the sound of an explosion with the accompanying hand gestures, biting his lip suggestively. Dick shakes himself just a touch, caught up in his own randy memories, before he says, "But I was actually going to say 'not having to talk to her'."

Logan quirks an eyebrow. "Yeah, I'm definitely going to tell her you said that."

"No, dude," Dick says, suddenly exasperated, "Like, I'm never gonna have to explain why my kids won't ride busses. Why the sound of breaking glass and car alarms can set me off. How I can love and hate my brother in the same breath." Dick's face is slightly shadowed, and Logan is stunned.

They have never talked about Beav… Cassidy. Not ever. He opens his mouth to say… Something. But nothing comes, and Dick continues on, pointedly ignoring Logan's aborted attempt at a heart-to-heart. Which is for the best, because Logan's feelings for Cassidy are a complicated mix of shame, guilt, and deep and pervasive loathing, and Dick's feelings for his mass-murdering little brother are almost certainly at least as complicated.

Dick presses on, forcing past Logan's inattention, "Even if I didn't already love Mac with every fiber of my being – which I do – I'm not sure there would ever be anyone else for me," Dick says, any vestige of his usual puckish self totally gone, "Because there's too much to say, too much to explain. Just the idea of it is exhausting," Dick says, grimacing.

Logan nods, considering. It is exhausting. There have been many girls since Veronica. Maybe a tenth of them lasted long enough to ask some probing, painful questions. Maybe half of those thought they would be the ones to "fix" him. And one hundred percent were disappointed in that ambition.

"I'm just saying, it can be nice to have someone around who already knows where the bodies are buried. This could be a good opportunity to leave all that shit behind. Because you have been dragging her behind you like an albatross for years, scaring off all the other girls with emotional dead bird baggage stink… That's a Shelley reference," Dick says, after a moment's hesitation.

"Yeah, thanks, buddy. I took Cliché Metaphors 101, too," Logan says shortly.

"I'm just saying, go easy on her. Take this opportunity to clear the air," Dick says evenly.

"You hate Veronica," Logan says, his eyes wide in surprise, as if this is an inalienable fact that he shouldn't need to explain.

Dick sighs, rolling his eyes, "I don't hate Veronica. I might have strenuously disliked her on your behalf, but I never hated her."

"And what exactly did she do to earn your admiration?" Logan bites out shortly.

"Come on. She's one of my wife's best friends. And she is also a devious, dangerous woman with access to lots and lots of potentially incriminating data. There is no percentage in being her enemy," Dick says, shrugging.

"And Piz?" Logan asks, his voice harsher now.

"What do you want me to say, man? I've hung out with him two or three times when we've been in New York. He's completely innocuous. Emma, Piz – they're kind of a packaged deal," Dick says, looking confused by Logan's obvious anger.

"Listen, it's great that you're friends. I'm ecstatic. Invite them around for fondue, Yahtzee, or couple's paddle-boating. I don't give a fuck," Logan says, quietly raging.

A light seems to go on for Dick, and he gets a considering look on his face. "So that's what REALLY bothers you, then. Veronica and Piz. As a couple."

"It doesn't _bother_ me. I mean, I guess I feel sorry for her, spending the last decade banging a member of the morning drive time Zoo Crew…" Logan spits.

Dick laughs, "You know he's not still a DJ…"

"I don't care if he's a goddamn recipient of a MacArthur Fellowship, he's still the goofy asshole who drove a wedge…" Logan tails off precipitously.

"Yeah," Dick says nodding, "I can see how little it bothers you."

"So I don't like Piz. Heavens, what a perceptive observation," Logan mutters petulantly.

"And Veronica?" Dick asks, the picture of innocence.

"Maybe I don't like her either," he snarls.

"Then why did you hire her?" Dick asks, his eyes sparkling.

"Not my decision," he grinds out. "Believe me, I fought her hiring."

"Because, after all, this whole operation bothers you so little," Dick says, smirking.

"Fuck off, Dick," Logan says darkly.

Dick holds his hands up in surrender with a look of complete guilelessness on his face.

"You have to know she's not the same girl who rabbited all those years ago," Dick says gently.

"However well you think you know Veronica, however much you admire her pluck and her loyalty and her ingenuity, know this – That's not her. Not really. At least not with me," Logan says, wearily.

Dick looks quiet, "So you never loved her… And more importantly, she never loved you."

Logan just looks resigned, "Now that is one of the world's great truths."

"Good thing it was all just overpowering chemistry, then," Dick says, trying for nonchalance. "And having Veronica so close, that isn't going to change anything? Not going to upset the delicate balance?" Dick continues, a touch of genuine concern in his eyes.

"I doubt we'll even interact that much, honestly. She's good at what she does. I've no doubt she'll be an asset to the business. But that's where it ends, Dick," Logan says, his voice steely.

"I'm just saying that she's not the same person she was, Logan. I don't want to see you do something you're gonna regret," Dick says, his expression tight with concern. It's bizarre to see such an alien expression on the dude's face.

"You don't need to worry on that account. I do not view Veronica or our past together through any kind of rose-colored nostalgia goggles," Logan says, all but sneering.

"See, now that's what I'm afraid of," Dick murmurs quietly as he slings his arm around his newly-returned wife.

"What's this?" Mac asks, pushing a raspberry-colored shock of hair out of her eyes.

"Logan was just telling me how we don't have to worry about anything happening between him and Veronica," Dick says, the pair sharing a look.

"A-ha. Okay. Good, then," Mac says slowly, her eyes locked with her husband.

"You know I hate when you two do this," Logan grouses, "We are in the middle of a conversation here. Conduct your little telepathic powwows on your own time."

Mac and Dick just turn and share another knowing look.

"Yeah, okay, this has been fun, but I need to go check on the rest of my guests now," Logan says striding off.

"Great party, buddy!" Dick shouts as he watches his best friend trounce off in his manliest huff.

"He's so screwed," he whispers to Mac, kissing her ear as she nods sagely in agreement.

* * *

Logan leans on the corner of the bar, examining the room. Everyone seems to be having a good time, dressed in their finest and laughing musically in individual conversations. It's a sharp disconnect from his own emotional state, but if there is one thing Logan had learned how to do, it's how to fake it at parties.

He checks his watch, lazily, and spares a glance for the door. He's expecting Trina to arrive fashionably late from the set of her latest film in Vancouver. It's a ripped-from-the-headlines piece for a certain cable channel that specializes in stories of child abduction and sisters-doing-it-for-themselves. It will be bad – almost certainly – and she may have been cast in a bid from the director to network with her producer brother – quite likely actually – but acting makes her happy.

And what's one more spec script in the face of that. He's got a shredder – might as well use it.

Hollywood is not, for all the pomp, actually a very glamorous business. For every starlet walking the red carpet in borrowed Oscar de la Renta and Harry Winston, there are twenty-five editors, fifty production assistants, and hundreds of grips, catering crew, wardrobe assistants, and prop fabricators.

So he tries to make the wrap parties as nice as possible.

Weevil's security staff is weaving unobtrusively through the crowd, keeping a careful eye on everyone and handily diffusing the various small incidents that threaten to turn into real situations. They're doing an excellent job. Damn them.

As he scans the rooms, he spots a Piz and a certain blonde having a somewhat frenzied conversation in a secluded dark corner. His guts burble angrily.

Despite whatever Dick thinks, the air is as clear as it's going to get. He doesn't like Veronica and he loathes Piz, but that's not something he needs to get over. It's just something that is.

Watching them together does nothing for his peace of mind, but maybe his peace of mind NEEDS to be shaken. He hasn't been doing a very good job of maintaining even a veneer of indifference to Veronica, despite the many promises he has made to himself over the years. And there is no better way to remind himself of all the things that cannot be than watching the two lovebirds canoodle in a corner.

Although, actually… Hmmm. Veronica has apparently exchanged her frock mid-event to a green organza number. And she's grown at least four inches.

Whoever this woman is, Piz wasn't expecting her to be here. He strokes her arm softly but seems to be trying to gently strong-arm her towards the door. The blonde will have none of it, and places a fist on her hip. Piz chuckles, resigned and clearly charmed by the gesture. He glances around the room shiftily before pulling Not-Veronica into his arms, pushing a tendril of hair back behind her ear.

And then Piz wraps his hand around the contours of her face and pulls her mouth to his, kissing her deeply.

Logan's gaze whips around the room, but to no avail. She's not here. Veronica is off running some security-related errand, and she is missing this educational display on circular breathing and tongue calisthenics.

Goddamn it.

* * *

Perhaps it comes as no surprise, but Logan is not a particularly forgiving person. There is a leaderboard in his head, constantly updated, that lists those souls most odiously offensive to him.

Of course, Aaron is at the top of that leaderboard, and it would take something on the scale of wholesale genocide to unseat him. Place number two tends to be left open for assholes who cut Logan off on the 405. Piz, for all his all-American, aw-shucks charm, has maintained his position at number three on the list for over a decade.

But now, in this moment… Aaron is lucky he's a Hall-of-Famer, or this might have been enough to force him out of the top seat.

It's not enough that Veronica chose Piz over him. It's not enough that they've built this cheesy little sitcom life with babies and businesses and good friends. It's not enough that Piz has everything Logan has ever wanted. Piz is cheating on her, too.

On some level, he's angry for Veronica. But he is much angrier for himself.

Logan downs his drink in one and storms out of the ballroom, desperate for something. A quick walk. Some air. An alibi for the savage beating Piz is likely to receive this evening.

He strides purposefully down the hallway towards his office when he is stopped by a bright flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He backtracks to see a sign posted on the washroom door. Apparently, it's out of order.

He stares dumbly at the sign for a few beats, and then, suddenly, the door opens a crack and a pair of hands shoot out to grab him by his tuxedo lapels and haul him into the darkened space.

Logan has been jumped several times before and after that memorable night in Weevil's van, and he tenses to prepare his counterattack. But somehow this is different.

For one thing, he's never been mugged by someone so much shorter than him.

And while his brain may be being willfully ignorant, his body definitely recognizes this particular assailant. And boy, does it respond.

He doesn't need to see her to know it's her. His hands fall to her hips, those immediately recognizable hips, and he lifts her into his arms. He walks her forward, the room barely illuminated by a skylight above, and sets her onto the counter where their considerable height difference is less of an issue.

Her teeth rasp along the tendons in his neck while her hands tug at the knot of his tie, and his skin suddenly feels hyper-stimulated. Her breath on his neck causes him to goose pimple all over. It's hot, but also kind of humiliating that she still affects him so viscerally.

In fact, the only comfort is that it is clear he has the same effect on her.

He runs his hand up her thigh, the long slit of her dress parting obligingly until he comes to a holster. He fingers the little band of leather delicately and moans slightly into the kiss.

She shivers a little, pressing even closer to him as she traces his eye teeth with her lithe little tongue.

There is a war being fought underneath his skin between the hedonistic troops of his body and emotionally-scarred veterans that make up the corps of his brain. And while the body may have superior numbers, the brain has a wealth of tactical experience.

And his body is very, very stupid. He's long ago given up expecting his penis to make good decisions without the input of his brain.

He pulls himself from the kiss, takes one deep breath, and is instantly furious. At her for challenging his all-too-weak will. At himself for being such an easy mark, even after all this time. Even after he knows better.

In fact, the whole situation is depressingly familiar. The only thing he doesn't know is what possessed her to do this…

"What the hell, Veronica?!" Logan grinds out, his teeth bared in a grimace. "What are you…."

He stops and straightens up, abruptly, a cold fury taking over his system. Never mind. He knows why she did this.

"You saw him, didn't you?" he says icily. "You saw Piz swabbing the tonsils of that blonde in the green dress with his tongue, and you decided to get your own back, didn't you!"

"Blonde?" she says, still quietly gasping while she catches her breath, "In the green dress?"

She pushes against his chest until he is forced to back up and hops down from the counter, hurriedly righting her dress. "I have to go," Veronica says, breathily, as she dashes for the door.

"I'll be back," she says, silhouetted in the doorway.

She's gone before Logan's chagrined laugh escapes. He splashes a little water into his face, dries his hands, and squares his shoulders. Deja-fucking-vu.

* * *

He walks back into the ballroom to witness an extremely subdued screaming match. His eyes never leave the argument as he strides up to the bar and orders another three fingers of scotch. Piz looks stressed, and the two blondes are squaring off in a whispered argument.

Logan snorts derisively and grabs an hors d'oeuvre from the tray of a passing cater-waiter. He shoves the whole thing into his mouth, chewing savagely, and gulps his scotch back, a disgusting affront to such a storied drink.

But it appears there will be no fireworks tonight. The blondes are still regarding each other warily, but they share tight smiles and seem to have largely settled their differences, at least for the moment. Piz looks relieved, an arm around each girl.

So there, the universe has righted itself. And Logan's shit luck has not changed.

It's so fucking unfair. He can still feel the warm press of her body against his chest, the feel of her legs wrapped around his hips. Watching her, it's like he can't breathe.

Which is why it takes him a moment to realize he actually CAN'T breathe. His airway is closing. He slides down the edge of the bar and collapses to the ground as dots dance in front of his eyes.

There is a great collective gasp from the other party-goers, and it's hilarious. It's like something out of an old melodrama. Logan would be crying with laughter if he was capable of sound.

"Logan!" Veronica screams, and then she's there beside him – beneath him, actually, in the evening's least appealing demonstration of irony – holding him partially upright with one arm, his head pillowed against her chest. She's rooting through her bag frantically with her free hand, and then she pulls something out, triumphant.

She rips his tie off over his head, roughly pulls his jacket back, and rips open his shirt, scattering buttons. With the arm supporting his back she forces the material down to expose the muscle of his bicep. For a split second she eyes her target, her arm raised.

The last thing he sees before it all goes dark is Veronica Mars stabbing him.

A/N: Boy, Logan's luck keeps getting worse… For those of you who have expressed trepidation, DO NOT WORRY. This is absolutely, 100% a LoVe story. But you're going to have to wait until next chapter to get all the details on Emma, Piz and Veronica. In other, somewhat related news, I'm going out of town next week, and it seems unlikely that I will be able to have a chapter for you next Sunday. I won't be back until the 9th or 10th. It is also quite possible I will not have a chapter for you that following Sunday either. I will do everything in my power to have a chapter to you by July 21st or 22nd. Which is almost a month away, and I'm very, VERY sorry. I'm having a lot of fun writing this – and the response you guys have given me is fantastic, so many, many thanks – so I will try to write it more quickly, but I thought it only fair to warn you.

That being said, you guys have COMPLETELY fueled me in writing this story as quickly as I have, and your encouragement might help me move more quickly than I currently think possible. It's worth a try right? Reviews are writing fuel, so help stoke my fire!

Sorry…. That got weird…


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